


Practice Makes Perfect

by Bofur1



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Challenges, Family Fluff, Fighting, Gen, Harm to Children, Hurt/Comfort, Major Character Injury, Men Taking Revenge and Enjoying It, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Consensual Violence, Prompt Fill, Ri Family Feels, Unexpected Bravery, Unpleasant Imagery, Ur Family Feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-10
Updated: 2013-12-10
Packaged: 2018-01-04 06:38:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1077781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bofur1/pseuds/Bofur1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Is there anything you would not do for your family?<em></em></em>
</p><p>Bombur and Ori don't understand why their older brothers are so eager to fight. This is to change after Bofur and Nori are gravely wounded in an unexpected battle. With Bifur and Dori away, Bombur and Ori must set aside their reservations to violence in order to protect the ones they hold most dear.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Oi.”

Bifur and Dori heard the gruff voice and halted. A Man emerged into the light of the empty square, others trailing drunkenly after him.

“What do you need?” Dori asked dubiously.

“Jest wan’ed t’ tell y’, I saw wot y’ two did earlier t’night in da bar. Breakin’ up dat fight an’ all. Wan’ed t’ extend a friendly challenge: y’ two up fer anudduh rumble?”

“In response, sir, I want to extend a friendly warning,” Bifur announced, eyeing the Men across from him. “Back off please or we will beat you.”

“If y’ an’ ye’ friend’re arr’gant ’nuff t’ t’ink y’ ken beat us,” the leader of the gang slurred, “den y’re sadly mistaken.”

“Oh, no, _we’re_ not the arrogant ones!” Dori scoffed. “That’s you and your lofty dancers.”

The second-in-command dove at him. Dori efficiently ducked around to the right, landing a short, stiff uppercut against the Man’s liver. He yelped and fell to the ground, curling in a fetal position.

The charge of the others in the group was clumsy and uncoordinated due to their drunkenness; Bifur and Dori glanced at each other and smiled grimly. If only these Men knew what they were getting into...

After a short but effectively bloody clash, Dori and Bifur stood triumphant over the writhing, groaning bodies of the Menfolk. The leader of them, a Man named Aroh, watched with glazed eyes as the two Dwarves wiped their dirty hands and greeted younger Dwarves who rushed onto the scene.

Two of the younger fellows, trim but strapping, seemed excited by their chaotic surroundings—

“Cousin Bifur, did ye beat ’em real bad? What was it about?”

“Aww, dear brother Dori, you should’ve called me! Haven’t gotten in a good row in ages!”

—while the other two, petite and inexperienced, seemed to find it rather upsetting.

“Are you hurt, Bifur?!”

“Dori, your face is bloody! Do you need a doctor?”

Bifur and Dori simply laughed off the questions and concerns of their young family members.

“No, it’s alright,” Bifur soothed. “We’re fine. Now that we’ve taken care of these buggers, we really do need to get you home and off to bed.”

“But I want to know what it was like!”

“Why’d they try t’ get ye anyway?”

The voices faded into the distance as the two families departed. Aroh forced himself to stand on his unsteady legs and began limping the way toward his own home. He had plans to make tonight, he was convinced.


	2. Chapter 2

“...I couldn’t understand why they nagged Bifur and Dori so much about the fight,” Bombur complained the next evening as he stirred the pot of soup boiling over the fire. “They’re just so violent!”

Ori shrugged lightly. “They’re Bofur and Nori; I really couldn’t imagine it any other way. Speaking of them, where—ouch!” Ori yelped and clutched his finger, having stabbed it unexpectedly with his knitting needle. Massaging it gingerly, Ori continued, “Where are Bofur and Nori now?”

“I think they’re outside practicing weaponry together,” Bombur replied, sighing. “Bifur is trying to get me training too, but I don’t like it. He and Bofur seem to do fine fighting without me involved.”

Nodding vigorously, Ori agreed, “Nori’s always shoving an axe in my face, wanting me to swing it around. Dori’s the opposite. He doesn’t even want me in the _same room_ with a weapon. It seems to me that they’re both annoying in their own ways.”

A cry could be heard from outside. Bombur and Ori looked at each other in curiosity. Had one of their kin struck the other too hard? That worry was crushed and another one sprang when a following outburst was abruptly cut off.

“What are they doing out there?” Ori wondered, rising to his feet. Bombur watched his friend shuffle toward the nearby window. Moving aside the curtain, Ori peered out—

The glass pane of the window shattered as the arrow of a crossbow sang through, whistling over Ori’s head. The youngest Ri leapt back in horror and scrambled toward Bombur, who had frozen.

“A bunch of Men!” Ori screamed, panicked. “They’ve got our brothers!”

Before he knew what he was doing, Bombur had seized up a massive granton-edged cleaver. “Grab something!” he commanded, shoving Ori toward a drawer.

The front door burst open at that moment and Men poured through from the dusk. Ori seized the scarf he’d been knitting and tore out the long needles. Whirling, he stabbed hard at the first Man he saw, receiving a furious curse for his daring.

Bombur charged forward as well, slicing and hacking at any bare skin he saw. He drew the line only at chopping off a limb, not for the sake of the Men but because he wasn’t sure if he would vomit or not at the sight.

Eventually he pinned one of the intruders against the wall, red-curtained cleaver at his delicate throat.

“What have you done to Bofur and Nori?!” Bombur demanded frantically. “Tell me!”

Ori’s cry of horror gave him a sufficient answer—that and the sight of Nori’s limp body dragging over the carpet, blood hemorrhaging from a deep wound in his side. His deathly pale face shone with cold sweat.

To Bombur’s equal relief and alarm, he caught wind of Bofur thrashing and screaming. “Nori! _Nori!_ No, no, ye can’t kill him; please—!” Something that sounded like cloth stifled Bofur’s words and Bombur could momentarily hear his brother choking. Afterward there was silence.

The Man Bombur had apprehended shoved him off and into the half-wall separating the kitchen and the living room. Sheer pain of impact caused the Dwarf to release his weapon. Ori dropped his needles also as though they’d burned him. Running to Bombur’s side, Ori seized him with the desperation of the child he was.

“Bombur! What are we going to do?!” he whispered, tears streaming from his wide, terror-filled eyes.

Bombur watched with mouth agape as three more Men entered from outside. Bofur was slung over one of the Human’s shoulders, hands, feet, and mouth bound so tight that the resulting contusions could be seen even from that distance. Bofur was dumped with Nori in his puddle of blood and Bombur wondered if he had imagined the sickening splash.

Aroh, the leader of the Men, spat at the two unconscious Dwarves and then turned toward the ones huddled against the half-wall. He smiled, rubbing his hands together.

“And now for you two,” he said.


	3. Chapter 3

“...When I got all these Men together, I thought that we would be meeting up with something of a challenge,” Aroh taunted, pacing back and forth before Bombur and Ori. “Have to admit, you got in a few slices with your little needles and your knife. Isn’t it strange that as soon as family is threatened, you little Dwarves just freeze up like baby deer.” Aroh cast a meaningful glance toward Bofur and Nori, who still hadn’t stirred since the beginning of the attack. Aroh’s Men snickered contemptuously at their leader’s words and the Dwarflings’ frightened faces.

Bombur rose shakily. “You...you need t-to let us go,” he declared, his voice wobbling even worse than his legs.

Aroh burst out laughing and his Men followed suit, a bit quieter this time. “And why is that, little sir?” Aroh asked, chuckling.

“Because Bifur and Dori are going to get you,” Bombur announced, trying to sound threatening. “They’re going to hunt you down and throttle every last one of you!”

Aroh shook his head. “Ah, the unwaverin’ belief of sprogs,” he commented, smiling ruefully. He stooped to meet Bombur’s eyes. “Listen to me, little sir. If your ‘Bifur’ and ‘Dori’ do come—which I doubt, by the way—my Men and I will beat them easy as that.” He snapped in the air between their noses, causing Bombur to flinch. He broke gaze with the Man, staring at the fellows behind Aroh. He blinked, his brow furrowing. It seemed like there were fewer than before.

Noticing Bombur’s perplexed expression, Aroh questioned, “What, are you scared of my Men?” He turned to inspect said Men and found himself face to face with Bifur.

“Should he be?” Bifur snarled sarcastically just before he snap-kicked him in the shins.

Turmoil broke out once again as Bifur and Dori began picking off the rogues one by one. Bombur and Ori watched their kin with wide eyes and something hardened in their hearts at the same moment. Now that they weren’t the targets, they had to help in any way they could. They had to save Bofur and Nori. With a glance of affirmation to each other, the two seized up their previously discarded weapons and stormed forward.

Bombur had a good eye for skin on both meats he cooked and meats he fought. Swinging his cleaver, he worked tirelessly to flay their flesh, feeling sudden, dizzy satisfaction as he watched it shred like tree bark. In that moment he realized why Bofur and Nori enjoyed fighting; it dually protected their families _and_ satisfied their energies.

Ori was slender and swift-footed, darting between combatants and lashing out at soft places. His strokes were lightning quick and he grimaced only slightly as his needles were stained nearly to the eye with blood. Eventually the needles broke off in someone’s body and Ori settled for using an abandoned belt as a whip.

When he heard his name, Ori paused long enough for Bombur to catch up to him. “One of us needs to go get Óin so he can help Bofur and Nori!” Bombur shouted over the din.

Ori nodded. “Let’s get to the window!” The two thrashed their way through the remaining villains that blocked their way. Ori set aside his whip/belt, unlatching the window and pushing it open. “Which of us is going?”

Bombur shook his head. “I can’t fit through the window!”

“Then I’ll go. Watch your back!” Ori shouted as he wriggled out the space. Bombur saw his friend melt into a fleeting shadow and then whirled, ready to meet whatever else came at him.

 _For Bifur and Bofur_ , he thought determinedly. _Thank Mahal they made me practice!_


	4. Chapter 4

Pain shot into Ori’s lungs, but he kept his legs pumping. He didn’t dare stop, not now, not when Nori was bleeding out and Bofur could be suffocating!

He soon reached the home of Óin and Glóin. Leaping up the stairs, Ori pounded on the door, screaming Óin’s name.

Óin threw open the door when he heard the urgency in Ori’s cries. “What’s going on, lad?!” he demanded in shock.

“A fight!” Ori shouted, barely noticing that his voice was far too high in so quiet a place. “Bofur and Nori are hurt bad; we need your help!”

Glóin suddenly shoved Óin out of the way. “Let me through! I’m going to help them!” he cried chivalrously, the freshly-sharpened blade of his axe winking in the moonlight. “Lead us there!”

Ori did just that. The three Dwarves dashed with purpose down the road, reaching the Broadbeams’ house in record time. They could still hear some ruckus through the door, which stood wide-open from the earlier intrusion.

Óin, Glóin, and Ori burst into the house just as Dori slammed a fist into the last Man’s nose, putting him down for good. Glóin’s vigorous battle-cry died away and his axe lowered.

“There’s...there’s no one left...?” Glóin asked in dismay.

“Oh, for goodness sake!” Óin hissed, elbowing his brother as he rushed toward Bifur, who was ripping away Bofur and Nori’s bonds.

Dori, Ori, Bombur, and Glóin huddled around the doctor as he examined the slashes and bruises. He shook Bofur first, trying fruitlessly to get a reaction. Óin carefully pried open the lad’s eyes and peered into their glazed, blank brown depths.

“Drugged,” Óin announced. “I think his gag was soaked with something.” Picking up said piece of cloth, Óin warily sniffed it and wrinkled his nose. “Yep, that’s dwaluh. Very effective narcotic. He’ll sleep for a long while still.”

Bifur massaged the bridge of his nose. “Perhaps it’s for the better,” he murmured, sounding as though he were trying to convince himself. “He won’t squirm while you’re washing his wounds.”

Óin nodded agreement as he crawled toward Nori. His grimace deepened significantly as he hastily seized a large piece of gauze from his medical bag and pressed it into Nori’s side. “Nori won’t be as easy to help. From the fever in his face and neck, I’d suspect the blade that caught him was poisoned. The only good thing is that the bleeding he’s been doing might have already leeched out the nasty stuff.”

Dori collapsed to the ground and pulled Nori into his lap. “Please be alright,” he whispered to Nori, pressing a kiss into his tousled hair.

“He’ll be just fine,” Óin promised solemnly. “I’ll take care of him, and the other one as well,” he added, nodding toward Bifur, who was clumsily running his fingers through Bofur’s hair.

Bombur and Ori backed away to stand off to the side, feeling rather useless and small once again.


	5. Chapter 5

“Hey there, Bombur.”

“Miss me, Ori?”

The youngest Broadbeam and the youngest Ri lifted their heads at the familiar voices. Their faces lit up as they cried their brothers’ names in unison and rushed through the open door into Bofur and Nori’s temporary room.

“Mr. Óin said you might be awake today!”

“We were so worried when we first brought you over here!”

“But we’re so glad you’re alright!”

“Aw, you two. You’re such good lads,” Nori sighed contentedly. Mindful of his side, not yet fully healed, Nori reached out and gave Ori’s beard fluff an affectionate tug.

“Couldn’t imagine ye any other way,” Bofur agreed with a nod that settled his long chestnut-brown bangs over the wrap round his head. His face furrowed in perplexed concentration. “I must’ve been a little loopy earlier, cos I dreamt that Bifur was tellin’ me ye took a cleaver t’ th’ Men who attacked me.”

Bombur smiled shyly. “It wasn’t a dream.”

Bofur’s eyebrows arched. “Ye fought them?” he asked in surprise.

“And not just me,” Bombur added, gesturing toward Ori.

Nori gasped. “Ah, little brother, I knew you had it in you!” he cried in sheer delight, squeezing Ori’s shoulder in enthusiastic congratulations. Ori blushed profusely and began stammering that he hadn’t done much, but Nori wouldn’t hear it. “You’re a hero!” he proclaimed proudly.

Bofur still hadn’t quite grasped the concept. “I thought ye didn’t like fightin’,” he remarked to Bombur, bewildered. “What made ye change yer—”

“I saw you slumped in a puddle of blood, stoned with drugs, tied up so tight it was giving you bruises!” Bombur cut in with vehemence. Noticing Bofur’s taken-aback expression, Bombur subdued his furious tone. “So...that changed my mind.”

There was a moment of silence. Bofur released a deliberate breath. Reaching out, he fondled Bombur’s ginger tresses and said softly, “Thanks fer takin’ care o’ me, Bommy.”

The nostalgia of the moment blinked from existence when Nori and Ori stared at each other, exclaiming incredulously in unison: “ _Bommy?!_ ”

Bofur blushed up to the roots of his unbraided hair and Bombur groaned, burying his face in his hands. Straightaway they knew that they would never live _that_ down.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Now I have a few things to say:
> 
> 1) I want to apologize because in most of my stories the Menfolk are evil. I can just write evil Men better than I can write evil Elves or Dwarves. Besides, Men usually were the troublemakers of Middle Earth and so in my stories they are villainous. :/
> 
> 2) Yes, I jumped on the "We want revenge because we're stronger" bandwagon. It may be cliché, but it makes for a good story, so please cut me some slack. I was just going by my prompt.
> 
> 3) Please comment and/or critique my work! I would love your feedback, and it tells me how I can improve my writing in the future. I give you permission to be honest! :)


End file.
